


Of Bikes and Boltholes

by HariSlate



Category: Raffles - E. W. Hornung
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Ambiguously Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Behavior, Communication Failure, First Kiss, M/M, Manipulation, Mutual Pining, Period-Typical Homophobia, Rated T for slur, Unhealthy Relationships, Unofficial marriage, ambiguous time period, bad proposal, bunny deserves better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 11:29:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20638424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HariSlate/pseuds/HariSlate
Summary: Raffles is dared to do something Bunny does not approve of. Then Raffles does something else Bunny doesn't especially approve of. Eventually they start communicating.Just a normal day for Bunny?





	Of Bikes and Boltholes

**Author's Note:**

> The manipulation and unhealthy relationship tags are all canon-typical.

"Bunny, you have to help me out here!" Despite his tone, I did not waver. Raffles generally had the upper hand in any communication between the two of us, but that didn't mean I couldn't hold my own more with him. But this particular conversation between us; it wasn't only of myself I was thinking. Raffles was fully capable of looking out for himself, but this was different. He  _ would _ be caught, no doubt about it. And he would be expelled, most likely. Arrested maybe. And that was the last thing we wanted.

My readers must not think me an innocent. Truly, nothing of the sort. The nickname is in reference to my face, but my visage belies my experience. Once upon a time, perhaps even in the days when these events occurred, I would have said I was corrupted by my closest friend.

I do not recall when I stopped justifying it as such.

A.J. Raffles introduced me to the criminal underworld in which I sullied the family name. Not that there were many around to notice. Raffles may have 'made' me a thief, but it was hardly against my nature.

"We’ll only get caught." Pointless to say, I rather thought that was the whole point. Raffles gave off the air of getting away with something, his peers were desperate to see him punished. But none of them could land any accusation. Thus, the dare.

"If I'm caught, I'll be sent down until the end of term. My grades are too good for them to get rid of me. I'll still live here, nothing will change." He grinned around his lit cigarette. "If anything, I'll be around more. I can help you with your essays, cook dinner…" he leaned into my side, at which I froze. “Critique your latest poems.”

"You can't cook." My voice was perhaps a little stiffer than usual, Raffles' arm still around my waist.

"I can learn."

I never could say no to Raffles; but even as my heart rebelled against my brain, my mouth said that impossible word.

—

It was perhaps a week later. Since I had said no, Raffles had not mentioned the dare from his classmates. That was odd, but I didn't know if he had decided it was beneath him, or just wasn't planning on including me. Both options were highly unlikely.

We were walking into town and he was letting me ramble along about some poem we had read in class. I remember only my enthusiasm now, but it seemed so profound in youth.

We were taking it at a slow stroll, and were just passing the university library when Raffles stopped me.

"Well Rabbit, look at that car!" He had one hand around my arm, the other was pointed at the offending vehicle. Its front two wheels were up on the curb, its back two in the middle of the road. This was not a busy street for road traffic, but I was still disgusted that somebody—most likely a student—cared so little for his fellow road users. I looked from the library, where I was sure there would be somebody to alert, back to Raffles.

He would usually tease me for my do-goodery, 'You steal from people on the regular, dear boy,' he would say, 'but you will rat a fellow criminal out for a parking violation!' I would then point out to him his own beliefs about the worthy criminal, and he would hit me with a quite indecipherable smile. I then tended to blush and look away, and that was the end of the exchange. But this time, Raffles moved straight to that cursed smile and said that I should go ahead with my meaningless virtue. Thus I went to fetch a university official.

—

"So you are here to report," The porter’s scepticism filled the pause, "Some dangerous parking?" It was Mackenzie, who knew of Raffles and I. He would never trust me, but Raffles did always say that I had a face of pure innocence.

"Mr Mackenzie, please," Raffles would tease me for it later, but I was sure that somebody would be hurt without his prompt assistance.

It took a few more minutes, but before long I was leading him down the library steps—to the accompaniment of a revving engine.

I may not be the quickest thinker, but Raffles' dare had never truly left my mind.

"Curse that boy." I said at too low a volume for Mackenzie and continued louder, "Damn, there's somebody coming. Hurry up!" The revs were getting closer, and I knew I was far from done yet.

"And what do you expect me to do, Mr Manders?" Curse him, and curse Raffles.

"I don't know, block the traffic?"

"That is rather out of my jurisdiction."

"I don't care, come on!" We were on the other side of the offending automobile when Raffles came into view. Mackenzie did look suitably horrified at the parking, but I was beginning to recognise the car. One of Raffles' cricketing friends, I was sure. Mackenzie had his back to the library, and it was only at the sound of wheels climbing the stone steps that he turned.

"What the hell? Manders!" He turned back to me, "Stay put, I would like a word with you and your Mr Raffles." And then he took off running.

My shoulders sagged; I had done my job. We were both in trouble, but Raffles would be happy about it. And they could never get me on just an accomplacing charge. I was the perfect burglar's mate.

Before I knew what was happening, the motorbike was before me.

"Get on!" Raffles wasn't wearing a helmet, it being held out to me somewhat insistently. "Come on, rabbit." He sensed my hesitation in an instant, "You called in the Scottish bloodhound, there'll be no question who he'll blame."

"So there's no point in running."

"Hah! There's always a point in running, my dearest Bunny." It was the endearment that really cut it. I climbed on and buckled the helmet.

We drove for some time, which gave me ample excuse to lean into his back. He didn't leave town, but we went round such a circuitous route that I could not follow where we were, even as the motorcycle pulled up. A nondescript building in a somewhat disreputable part of town; the honest to God key in Raffles' hand. It did not even look to be one of his replicas!

As we climbed the three flights of stairs, Raffles explained that this was nothing more than a bolthole. A place to lie low when the heat was on. That he had never informed me of its existence because knowing would only hurt us both. That it was a pokey little place that even he rarely visited.

Indeed, it was a single room. The bed was a mattress on the floor, a jug of water in place of a sink. Little to resemble a kitchen but a kettle and a hotplate. A wardrobe whose doors could hardly close, a canvas with no more than some smudges of paint.

Raffles took the canvas from its easel before I could steal more than a glance—leant it against the wall, picture unseen.

"Your own Dorian Grey?" His beauty was sufficient. Was he the model or the artist?

"Perhaps, perhaps," his smile was slight, devilish. Preparing to say something I didn't want to hear, "Now, I am afraid your face has been spotted at a crime scene!"

"But you-"

"Were wearing a helmet the whole time." I hated that grin.

My closest friend, he who I loved and despised in equal measure, explained that it would be better if he returned home alone, but he would return when he could, likely before daybreak tomorrow.

It was hardly noon. He left before I could argue.

—

Raffles had left me in that room with a chill in the air that had come in with his departure. The floorboards were uncovered, unvarnished; there were cracks in the panes of glass.

I didn't like to think that he would leave me here alone, but I could not deceive myself so easily. I was here and he was back in our warm apartment, probably already with a glass of whiskey and a Sullivan between those devilish lips.

The flat was bare, not like Raffles at all. For as long as I'd known him, every place where he lived would be adorned with his disparate tastes—either art and poetry, the forbidden culture; or cricket bats and photos of men in virginal white, arms around each other. But here was different—it felt less like Raffles I saw, more like the thief and criminal he kept hidden. Whoever stayed here was no Prince of Professors. Only the true professional could afford such a place as this.

My night there was contemplative; huddled on a mattress with a thin sheet, unable to sleep. Raffles had said he'd be back by morning, but I knew not if I would survive the night. There was city noise outside the window, and here sleep felt more like a privilege. My forty days in the desert, I saw what had brought me to this point.

I never intended to become a criminal, the life was not the romance of my childhood self. I never played pirates, or even dreamed of any more than was expected of me. Perhaps I never dreamed at all. But when I started at university, I learnt to wish for more than I deserved. My parents had died in my first term; I inherited a small fortune with their departure, all too ready to squander it. My tastes were not extravagant, but they were unwise. And that was  _ before _ Raffles.

From our first meeting, he was my greatest vice. A year older, the polar opposite of me in every way. Tall and dark, aware of his beauty; but never of my interest, thank God. Yet he was kind to me, despite our differences. It was not uncommon for us to spend the night together, whether at a club or in his rooms. It was only natural that we moved in together, perfectly respectable. After all, we shared an income. All we could of our lives.

—

The canvas was burning a hole in the room the whole day and night. It was just past midnight when I trod that forbidden path. By the glow of a single gas lamp, I turned the canvas. Raffles had placed it here as bait, I knew, one more piece of the image he would construct. I wished I could have turned my back on him, on the plan he had, but that was not to be.

The unfinished painting meant little to me, just the vague impression of a person. Without body and with little form to the face, it was only the most treacherous part of my mind which suggested the impossible.

— 

It was morning when Raffles returned to me. It felt sordid somehow, sleeping on that mattress on the floor. I had stayed up and dressed, the window open to let my cigarette smoke curl out. Raffles stood with a blue tint through the clouded air, and for a moment I could believe I had fallen asleep after all and this was but a dream.

"It seems we have both of us had a sleepless night, rabbit." He fell down next to me on the mattress.

"Was it worth it?" Before my friend answered that, he looked hard into my eyes. Whether looking for my question or how I wished he should answer, I did not know. In fact, he never did reply, only smiled. He covered my eyes with his hand, and I was reluctant to hold out my own, but of course I did. "I thought the point was to lie low, until you were safe!"

"My dear Bunny," his hand on my face, I tried to control myself at his address. The rush of blood to my face is horribly obvious at any time, but so close it was unmistakable. "You know there is never any joy in being safe, never a reward!" Nothing met my hands, and I saw no difference when Raffles removed his from my eyes. 

He stood up, pulled me to my feet. We were both wearing the same clothes we had yesterday, my skin felt cold and grubby. I desperately needed a bath. 

Raffles, not meeting my eye, acquiesced to my suggestion.

—

From the cold, blue tinted room to the thick steam of the Turkish baths. We were not alone in the room, we couldn't talk. I didn't mind, just focussed all I could on the warmth on my skin. That perfect contrast between heat and chill; some strange dispersal within my limbs, the deep muscular relaxation. Raffles was slumped beside me, his too long legs stretched out far into the room. But as my muscles relaxed from the stresses of the night I became only more aware of the slow tension that would remain. That part was familiar, the uncertainty that had followed me since I had met my closest friend. But part of my promise to him—unspoken, unacknowledged—was a silence on that point. I could trust Raffles to eventually bring me into the light. Ours was a life of excitement and danger, and while I would happily give those up, he would not be my Raffles without them. Raffles  _ was _ the crime, perhaps I was too.

I could hide my curiosity well. In truth, much of me did not wish to know what Raffles had been up to in the night, but knowledge was no choice. With Raffles, ignorance is Bliss, impossible to retain.

For now, we could relax in our private haven; us and a stranger who would never know our faces. The baths had always been our sanctuary, perfectly discreet after a night of crime.

It may sound like more than it was, but what that  _ more _ was joined the long list of the unspoken.

It was mid-morning when we finally left the baths. My fingers were wrinkled, my skin revolting against the cold of the outside air. Followed by the short walk back to our flat, me falling onto my bed. Raffles followed me into my room—a rare occurrence in itself.

"I should have had a lecture today," the usual anxiety around missing classes was absent, "I have another this afternoon."

"Shall you attend?" Raffles was sitting on the bed at my feet. His voice was low, his energy a touch on edge.

"Likely not," I felt drunk, I am unsure what on. Perhaps, Raffles' return when he when he promised it should be. While our relationship could never be what I wished it to be, the trust that he had put in me was considerable. I’d closed my eyes, my head flat on the bed. I could feel Raffles' weight shift by my feet. Too comfortable to move, I didn't look up. I did hear him clear his throat slightly, but wasn't in the mood to entertain him. It took three coughs for me to look up.

Raffles was holding out his palm, and in it was a simple ring.

"Is that it?" I questioned his taste. "Your fence won't give you fifty pounds for that!"

"It's for you." So maybe he was a little offended, but Raffles had never stolen such a thing for me before... I went to take it from him, but he closed his hand and took mine. "It fits." And it did, though I had not anticipated wearing it on my ring finger. But I had never seen that expression on Raffles face, and I did not want to lose it. I admired it on my finger, determined not to think about what this meant. What it looked like.

"Thank you." My voice was little over a whisper, there was a smile on my friend's face. With that same infuriating grin, he left me to sleep.

Raffles was present in my dream, and when I awoke I saw his ring on my finger and the low light outside my window and questioned if it had been a dream after all. My stomach ached, my body exhausted. And I could hear movement in the next room.

As I stepped into the living room, Raffles looked up. He grinned, looking at me with an expression that I did not understand, didn't want explained. Before I knew it, his arm was around my shoulders, his mouth at my ear. "How about a late lunch?"

"What time is it?" Still that smile which infuriated my mind and caused something in my stomach to turn.

"Nine o'clock." Damn it.

"Have you slept?" Again, only a smile. I was led into the kitchen and the smell of strong coffee.

"Beans on toast?" I only nodded. The thought of food was everything; the way to Raffles arm on my shoulders, the smell of the Turkish coffee that he had boiling on the stove. To me it was a feast.

My friend and I ate together, sat in armchairs around the fire. I had not been truly cold since before the baths, but I would not say no to the comfort of that breakfast. It was somehow celebratory. For those of you who do not know Raffles, this may not be easily understood, but Raffles' expression that night, a care in the turn of his lips, a new spark in his eyes. That night, I was all that mattered to Raffles. 

It was perfection until that glint of metal met my eye.

I tried to stifle the shake of my hand, not to stare, not to draw the slightest attention to it. But perhaps I ate a little faster, excused myself when I was done. And if I caught the freeze in my friend's expression, I was determined to stay strong .

Alone in my room once more, I sat with by back flush to the door. Thus I could hear Raffles in the next room. He sounded restless, which was rare. Pacing, occasionally has footsteps would approach my door, a pause then the pacing resumed.

I did not, could not understand. My reasoning was swimming around my mind, caught between dancing and sobbing. I knew not what I had seen.

—

"Raffles? " It had been an hour or so, I could no longer hear my friend's movement.

"Did I misunderstand?" His face was cold, perhaps still frozen. Protective, I can only assume. It was rare that I saw Raffles anything close to nervous, it only made me feel worse.

I walked over to where he was lounging on the sofa. He could achieve that studied nonchalance, I only a tremor in my hand. But still I took his, and it was the same ring.

"Damn you," I couldn't look at his face, couldn't tear my eyes from his hand. He tried to withdraw it but I held firm.

"Bunny, please," the pain in his voice brought me some measure of joy; something dark within me liked that crack, fear, hesitation. Shared pain perhaps.

"I'm an idiot," I pulled the ring off of his finger, "A fool. A damned fool." I could feel the residual warmth of his hand through the metal. I brushed my thumb lightly over where the band had been, only half aware of what I was doing.

I slipped the band back on his finger, released his hand from mine.

"I love you." His voice, almost unheard despite how close he was, was a slap in the face. For what felt like forever, I had wanted to hear those words, but now I had them I knew not what to do with them. I still hadn't looked him in the face, could not bear whatever grin of mocking was there. Because all I knew was that this was not real. Could never be. Whatever prospective joy from this interchange was now impossible. He with those careless words had ruined it, broken the silence that I had so carefully cultivated. Set my heart with doubt.

"How long?" I had stood up, turned away, "Why? What do you want from me?"

"Bunny…" 

"No!"

“Harry, I’m sorry,” I winced at the name, alien from his lips.

"No, you're not." I tried to leave, hindered by his hand around my wrist.

“I thought-

"You didn't think. Not about me, at least." But he would not let me go.

"Maybe you don't believe me, or don't feel the same–"

"A.J., please–"

"Look at me." His eyes were out of focus, desperate.

"Was this another dare? ‘Look at the little invert, in love with the captain of the Eleven? We could get him to do  _ anything _ !’ I can imagine all your cricketing pals-"

His hand dropped from my wrist. 

"Bunny, no. Never."

"Then what was yesterday?" I was so close to shouting, "What has all of this been? You know I can never say no to you!"

"I have loved you since our first crime." I couldn't help but laugh at that. He flinched at the derision.

"You could have left me alone. I would have been happy without you, or just carrying on like we always have. But–"

"Bunny!" He took me by the shoulders, firm as he guided me to the sofa. "I’m sorry. I know I've done this wrong, but please." He pressed a glass of whiskey into my hand, and I threw it back faster than was sensible. "I'm not going to leave you alone like this, but..." He ran a gentle hand over my hair. "I’ll stop talking." I didn't see where he went, I didn't look. Ignored the tone of his voice.

I lay on the sofa, my eyes tight shut against the firelight. I was vaguely aware of Raffles, the noise of his movement echoed somewhere within my chest. I was caught in the theatrics of young love, emboldened to shallow hatred that would only later feed my infatuation. I must have fallen asleep at some point, as I did definitely awake. When I did, I saw the Dorian Grey canvas, which Raffles had retrieved. There was the glimmer of fresh oils, the form slightly clearer. I looked away fast.

_ He _ was sat in an armchair by the fire. He had a newspaper in his lap, but seem to be paying it little attention. He did not try to hide his stare. 

“You have woken in time for morning!” He stood up, I tried to sit and only grimaced. “Yes, I feel it was inadvisable to sleep there, and only a few short metres from your bed!”

“Damn–”

“Yes I know, Bunny. Damn me. I would do well to be damned.“ He helped me to a more vertical position. “But it is a beautiful morning, and I do not wish to be damned on a day such as this!” He brushed the hair from my eyes, I knocked his hand away—though perhaps a moment too late. “I'll get you some water, then we can talk about last night.”

“There's nothing to talk about, Raffles. I–” My voice was little more than a croak and much of the anger of last night had been replaced by a splitting headache. 

”Oh no, we must talk. I am most firm on this.” That damned smile. When he came back armed with both water and coffee, I was regretting my decision to stay. This conversation would not end in my arrest, but almost certainly with my estrangement from Raffles. My dearest friend, I could no longer call him such.

He sat down beside me on the sofa, a pained smile in his eyes and his mouth a blank.

“We should both say our piece” I went to get up, but his hand caught my arm. “It is only fair that you start.“ I sat down again, my hand back to a tremor. What was the risk? I had already said all that was to say in the rush of last night. Arrest was impossible between the two of us, and the end of our friendship was already guaranteed. Staring at the far wall, I determined where best to start.

“I had... admired you, since before you even noticed me. Always the most handsome man in the room. I used to seek you out, visit your college. Watch you in the street.” I could feel that Raffles was turned towards me on the sofa, I avoided his eye still.

“I first saw you at the cricket.”

“That was always my favourite.” Even in this most dire situation, I smiled at the thought. “I think the love started there. Though I did not realise then. It  _ was _ only the start; the seed. But it was everything, once you started paying attention to me. Though I could never place why you did.” 

“It was that face of yours.” Even as I refused to look, I could hear his smile

“Always innocent?”

“Something like that.” He waited a moment. “I first spotted you at cricket. That look on your face, even as I was batting against your own college. There was never any innocence there.” I felt the heat in my face. Had I been so obvious from the start? “Do not worry, I don't think anybody else could so easily decipher your face. You looked at me like I must look at a safe.” 

“Raffles...” There was still a tightness in my chest, reminding me not to trust him.

“Oh no, really,” I did not recognise his expression, when I finally pulled my eyes to it “It's a good look on you.”

”Like you said last night, I realised I was finished after my first theft.” his smile froze. “It was then that I accepted I could never hate you, could not hold against you what you did.” Who you were, “It was too late for me, I might as well join you in your life of crime.”

“Bunny…” I looked at him, his face was closed off to me. 

“How did you know?”

“I didn't. I promise you that.. I did not mean for last night to play out as it did.” His voice was cracking under more sincerity than suited him. “I don’t know when it was that I realised, only that I knew then that I had to say.” 

“This is not saying.” I brandished my hand in his face.

“I know, Bunny. I didn't think it would go like this.”

“Then how do you think it would go?” The heat of anger was returning and I matched his hesitation.

It was light, his slow breath over where the ring still sat on my finger. I didn't pull away, so he moved forward.

I never thought Raffles would kiss me, not on the lips. Not like this. It took me too long to respond, panic and warmth spreading through me in equal measure, mingling to some strange bliss. I pushed him back, looked him in the eye for the first time since last night.

“Well?” I wanted to kiss him again. Wanted to feel that warmth; for it to mingle with the anger and purify it. But I had experience with kissing, I knew it was not enough.

But Raffles was smiling. I am not sure what expression he was met with.

“You're not forgiven.”

“I wouldn't expect to be, my l-” 

“A.J….”

“My love, Bunny. A fool. A damnable fool.”

“I hate you.” He didn’t believe me. “Fine. I love you. But we need to talk about the rings.”

“Will you-”

“I shall leave you if you ask me that question.” But I did kiss him, and I did not remove the ring.

**Author's Note:**

> So I am aro ace and have 0 clue how to write romance or kissing.


End file.
